


Hunk: Legendary Defender

by recreational_defenestration



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, It's happening, i'm making it happen, shoutout to saltcider on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recreational_defenestration/pseuds/recreational_defenestration
Summary: Season One of Voltron: Legendary Defender, as told from Hunk's perspective.





	

Hunk did not keep a diary, but if he did, the entry for today would have looked a little something like this:

_Dear diary,_

_Today I was attacked by aliens, transported to another planet, attacked by aliens, selected by a giant yellow robot lion to be its pilot and attacked by aliens. Lance and Pidge and two other guys I don't know have lions too, and we combined our lions to make one super giant robot man so we could attack the aliens back._

It's been a weird twenty-four hours.

Love, Hunk

\--

"Galaxy Garrison flight log 5-11-14. Begin descent to Kerberos for rescue mission. "

Hunk's stomach was doing the cha-cha-cha. Or the tango. Or some other high-energy dance that involved multiple people. For the umpteenth time in his life, he wondered why on Earth he had ever wanted to _leave_ Earth, why his evolutionary love of solid ground had not been strong enough to overcome his crippling passion for space and space technology.

He wondered why he had eaten so much beef stroganoff before the flight simulation, and then remembered that he was not so much a stress-eater as he was a stress-vacuum.

"Lance, can you keep this thing straight?" groaned Hunk, trying to get his tongue in the way of the vomit.

"Relax, Hunk, I'm just getting a feel for the stick," came the not-at-all reassuring response. "I mean it's not like I did _this!_ "

The ship lurched as if caught on a wave; Hunk felt his entire body drop like a stone, while staying strapped into his chair in the most jarring of ways. His stomach leapt upwards as well, like an overexciteable puppy.

" _Hrrrgh!_ " he said.

"Or _this!_ " added Lance.

The ship swerved unnecessarily to the side. A slave to physics, Hunk swerved with it, and in doing so the beef stroganoff decided to leave structured dance in the dust and throw the stomach equivalent of a rave party.

"Okay," gasped Hunk, "unless you want to wipe beef stroganoff out of all the little nooks and crannies in this thing, you'd better _knock it off, man!_ "

Some beeping noises came from Hunk's right, but the volcano of gastrointestinal distress threatening to blow its top was registering a bit more urgently. He figured that Pidge would tend to it anyway - she said something about a distress beacon, and Lance said something about coordinates, and holy heck if this wasn't the worst day of Hunk's life apart from that time when he had stumbled upon Pidge's, ahem, lady things, in an effort to find a good hiding spot for her birthday present then he didn't know _what_ was.

The ship gave a huge, shuddering jolt, and started beeping angrily.

"Knock it off, Lance, _please!_ " moaned Hunk, his eyes screwed up like balls of paper.

"Oh, this one's on you, buddy. We've got a hydraulic stabiliser out."

Hunk forced his eyes open, trying desperately not to hurl, and pulled his screen closer towards him. Almost immediately afterwards, another fiercesome judder rocked the ship, causing him to nearly faceplant into the screen and triggering stomach pain akin to being punched very hard in the gut. He forced himself to swallow, the hydrochloric acid burning his throat and making him whimper.

"Oh no," he gulped.

This was _not_ his day.

"Oh no!" yelled Lance from the front, above the incessant beeping of the ship. "Fix now, puke later!"

"I lost contact!" exclaimed Pidge, staring intently at her screens. "The shaking is interfering with our sensors!"

"Come _on_ , Hunk!" said Lance.

Hunk wished they wouldn't yell so loudly. He also wished that the beeping would stop, and that he didn't get airsick and also attend a school for space cadets. Actually, no, scratch that - above all, if there was _one thing_ he wished right now, it was that he hadn't. Eaten. So. Dang. Much.

"It's not responding," he managed to splutter, while he fumbled at his seatbelt and staggered out of his seat, breathing heavily. Dang it, dang it, dang it, dang it, _dang it..._

Hunk stumbled to the main gearbox, trying to convince his stomach that it looked really, _really_ good with food _inside_ of it, as opposed to, say, food _not_ being inside it. Unfortunately, he wasn't the best at persuasive techniques.

"Oh, never mind, fellas," amended Lance from the front. "Thar she blows. Preparing for approach on visual."

As Hunk opened the gearbox, Pidge said to Lance, "I don't think that's advisable with our current mechanical and..."

Heroically, Hunk pushed back another wave of puke. The noise that accompanied the feat was not so heroic.

"...gastrointestinal issues," finished Pidge.

"Agreed," said Hunk, as serious as a gravestone.

"Stop worrying," drawled Lance. "This baby can take it - can't you, champ?"

The ship juddered as if it had been caught in a landslide. Hunk nearly fell over, his internal pressures were so demanding. Heck, he could _taste_ his dinner rising up to meet his teeth... ugh. Ugh, ew, bad. No. Don't think those kinds of thoughts, man.

"Uh, see? She was-she was nodding. She was nodding." A pause, then all in a rush, "Pidge, hail down to them and let them know their ride is here."

Hunk heard the clink and whir of a safety harness being removed. He was pretty sure that that was against protocol, and that safety harnesses should be worn in pretty much any in-flight situation, but was unable to look up and verify on account of the fact that he was lying face-first in the gearbox.

"Attention, lunar vessel - _wuaargh!_ "

Dimly, Hunk registered a thump outside of his own private, personal hell, and then he heard Lance shout, "What are you doing? Buckle your belt. And, Hunk, stop that shaking!"

Hunk raised his head, managed an, "I'm tryi-", then said, "Oh no" again and vomited neatly into the gearbox.

While Pidge yelled into the speaker, Hunk shut the gearbox on his shame and staggered once more across the ship and into his seat, fastening his harness and trying not to throw up again. He had only just gotten into his seat when Pidge threw the snarky barb of "against crew recommendations" at Lance, who snapped, "No time for your mutinous comments now, Pidge. They're going under and we're going in."

The ship flew downwards.

"Look out for that overhang!" yelled Pidge.

 _Go, Pidge,_ thought Hunk, unable to speak due to sheer terror. _You tell 'em. Someone's got to speak for the voiceless._

"No worries," sneered Lance. "My first year in flight school, know what they called me? They called me "The Tailor" because of how I thread the needle."

And then they began flying sideways and rolling over and Hunk's life just got that little bit worse.

"Come around, come around! Come on, come on!" said Lance.

" _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!_ " said Hunk and Pidge.

The ship's screens flickered briefly to black; the three of them were flung around like rag dolls in a hurricane, and Hunk's screen took on a particularly evil-looking shade of red. It started beeping loudly, and now bore the legend, "DANGER".

"We lost a _wing!_ " moaned Hunk.

"Oh, man," said Lance, earning himself the Hunk Award for Biggest Understatement of the Century.

And then they crashed.


End file.
